


I Sometimes Lose My Faith In Luck

by vociferocity



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Retelling, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vociferocity/pseuds/vociferocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was I really so monstrous, he asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Sometimes Lose My Faith In Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caughtinanocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caughtinanocean/gifts).



> merry xmas :) 
> 
> title from brandi carlile's hard way home. totally unbetad, sorry for typos!

 

You were beautiful, it's true, but your sisters were older. Wiser, too, they told you, and in your innocence you could not disagree. They seemed knowledgeable in all things, and as the people worshiped you, you worshiped your sisters.

Until the day they counseled you to kill your monstrous lover, you obeyed them in all things. Your eldest sister held out the dagger and told you what you needed to do, but there was a seed of doubt in your heart.

He is kind to me, you said. And, I do not think monsters can be kind.

Foolish sister, said the other, her smile pitying. He is kind because you have only just given birth to his monstrous spawn. Soon he will surely devour you.

And the child, your eldest sister added. He will devour you both.

But for the first time, their words didn't feel like the truth. You had seen their envious glances as they entered your house, the longing looks they cast towards your necklace. They had to know that whoever you lay with was no real monster, to treat you such. Besides – he felt so human in the night.

Their eyes were fixed on you, sharp and bright. In your life, your one courageous act had been to be a sacrifice, and you had been pushed every step of the way. You were not sure how to be courageous on your own.

I will destroy the monster, you relented after a long moment, taking the knife. I will protect myself and my child.

And when your sisters left you in peace, you wondered how you would act. If you could kill him, or if you would let the monster live. If he would devour you if you ignored your sister's advice.

If he was even a monster.

By the time he again slept beside you, you had devised a plan. You would kill the monster, as your sisters had counseled you. But first you needed to be certain. First you needed to _see_.

 

Later, you wondered what would have happened if you had just stabbed him, if you had taken your sisters on faith and obeyed. Instead, you had felt the pull of curiosity, had felt again the seed of doubt, and this time had acted. Later, you wondered if shining the light on your immortal husband was the first courageous thing you had ever done.

 

But before that, with all the tasks before you, as painful as Aphrodite's welts on your back, and as sharp as the sudden loss of your sisters, all you felt was regret. You wished you had followed another path, that you had dimmed the lamp and gone back to sleep, knife back in the kitchen. You wished that there was another way out of the situation, and found none. And for the first time, you lost hope.

But someone, somewhere, sent help. The seeds were sorted in time, and the wool was gathered. The way to the underworld was revealed, and Persephone smiled silently, encouragingly, at you. You had walked the world until your feet cracked and bled, had starved for the first time in your life. Your hands blistered and ached, and your heels and fingertips grew callused. The welts on your back faded to pale scars. Someone helped, and you abandoned despair. You took that help with both hands and used it. You worked as hard as you were able, and then you worked some more.

 

And then, when you gave into curiosity for a second time, you failed.

 

And yet, somehow, it was enough.

 

And now, he has returned.

 

You stand in the echoing hall of the gods, in front of your monster. In front of Eros. He looks the same as he was when you stole a look at his sleeping form, but you have always been told that to look upon a god's true form is to go blind. You wonder if this is his real appearance.

You also wonder where the rest of the gods are. After Eros woke you from your enchanted sleep he brought you here; but it was crowded then with dozens of strange faces. They had soon melted away, but you have a crawling feeling that says you are being watched. That you are being judged. You do not want to be found wanting. You keep your eyes on the ground.

Eros, you say softly. It is the first thing you have ever said to him. When you were first brought to him in the dark, you bit your lip until it bled rather than seem fearful. And when he did not hurt you, and when he returned, it seemed right to remain silent. That if your phantom husband would not be seen, you would not be heard.

Was I really so monstrous, he asks. He says it with a laugh, but when you glance up from the ground, you can see the hurt in his eyes.

In the night you were no monster to me, you say quietly. You wish dearly to lay a hand on his shoulder, but when you move closer he takes a step back. When your hands were on me – when mine were on you – you were no monster.

And yet, he says. The dagger.

It would be disloyal to lay all the blame at your sisters' feet, and untruthful besides. The urge is there, however. You quash it.

In the night you were no monster, you repeat. But there was more to our sham of a marriage than nights. You were a mystery, and you lied to me. You left me.

Psyche, he says, and now there is something you do not recognise in his expression. You hope it is an apology, but worry it is annoyance, or worse. I did not leave you.

You woke me, you allow with a small smile. And I thank you for that.

Psyche, he repeats. I did _not_ leave you. Never.

At first you think he means in the house, that he was there beside you and the child all day and only became tangible at night - but then you remember the tasks, and the mysterious help you received. The way Persephone had smiled like you were only aware of half the story, and the rest was going to be a happy surprise.

Really? you ask, voice small, a seed of hope growing inside you.

I would never, he repeats, and you can hear what else he is saying to you. To only you.

You were never a monster, you say, reaching out on impulse and taking his hands. His deft fingers twine around yours in a serpent's caress and squeeze.

I was _your_ monster, he corrects with a laugh, and you can tell this one is genuine. And I would remain so – if you would have me.

You lean forward. Without talking, your lips tell him your answer.


End file.
